The Popular Theory
by ViaLethe
Summary: The thoughts, feelings, adventures, and banter of River and Mal, as presented in a series of random and unrelated vignettes. River/Mal, mostly light and fluffy pieces.
1. Fell in Love with a Face

Disclaimer: Words are mine, world ain't.

a/n: So, these will be no kind of coherent story, just separate snippets of life that are too tiny to be posted on their own. I will try to note a timeframe for each of them, either pre-relationship or established relationship. Feedback is welcomed!_  
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><p>Timeline: Pre-relationship<p>

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><p><em>Fell in Love with a Face<em>

"He's got a funny looking face," River says to Kaylee, her nimble fingers scooping up jacks.

"Huh? Who does?" Kaylee asks, grabbing for the ball, mind more on her strategy than River's ramblings.

"All full of lines, cares and worries and laughs. Very mobile," River goes on, ignoring the question. "The eyelashes are too long, belong to a more feminine appearance. The smile is acceptable."

When Kaylee, captured jacks in her palm, looks up, ready to repeat her question, she sees that while River's hands are darting over the jacks, her eyes are fixed on the Captain.

"Oughtn't add up to beauty, yet it does," she says, far away and still winning the game.

x-X-x

Ain't right that she should be so pretty, not really. Hardly enough of her there to be called a woman, after all, and what there is always being swallowed up in borrowed clothes don't help. Her face is all made up of big eyes and forehead and that endless curtain of hair she never does a thing with, not that he's ever been one for fancy styles. Or one for fancy clothes either, come to that.

But he's also never been one for girls just lately become adult women, and that's why it's getting to him so much, how he can't seem to stop staring at the way her mouth curves when she grins, at the graceful way she's got even when she ain't doing more than sitting on the floor playing games.

And now she's looking up, straight at him, and he knows for damn sure he's let a few too many thoughts slip for comfort.

"You think _I'm_ pretty too?" she calls from across the cargo bay, sounding surprised.

Well, that pretty much reduces him to incoherency. "I – What? Wait, what do you mean, _too_?"

x-X-x

Neither one of them can understand why Kaylee's going off into peals of laughter, echoing around them in their stillness, eyes locked on each other.


	2. A Scale of Small to Endless

a/n: Most of these were written off prompts at the lj community comment_fic; when that's so I'll include the prompt._  
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><p>Prompt: <em>River, "I measure every Grief I meet" (Emily Dickinson)<em>

Timeline: Pre-relationship

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><p><em>A Scale of Small to Endless<em>

Some griefs she can wrap her mind around, because they are small in the scale of things; Jayne's bitter point of sadness over a gun, irreparably damaged this last job, Kaylee's sharp sting where Simon's latest careless words have cut her, Wash's slow tide of anxiety for Zoe receding.

Others carry grief more sustained, deeper and lasting, but well worn, buried enough so River can look at it without fear of falling in; Zoe's old war wounds, healed over and covered in bandages made of loyalty and love, proof that grief doesn't have to destroy; Book's peaceful green field, where he tends his flock, the new growth nourished by the bodies he's buried below, and Inara, wearing her melancholy like a layer of fabric, twisted and draped expertly to veil her, to make her all the more alluring.

Simon's griefs are not to be looked at; they are unfathomable, too close to her own to withstand, and her own are everything in nothing, like the black, infinite and waiting to swallow her into insignificance – so she refrains from measuring her own grief, and Simon's as well.

Mal puzzles her, because, like her, he seems made up of grief; pain and loss in the shape of a man. But he doesn't let it consume him, instead making it into whatever he needs, and she longs to follow him about, asking _how, how do you do this?_ – but she doesn't, knowing there's no answer to give; she simply observes him instead, and tethers herself to him, solid reassurance in the infinite grief.


	3. No Right Minds

Prompt: _Mal +/ River, "I know you ain't quite right in the head, darlin', but I reckon you ain't much wronger'n the rest of us either."_

Timeline: Established relationship

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><p><em>No Right Minds<em>

"Does it bother you that they think I'm crazy?"

Mal sighs, wide awake now instead of drifting off to a pleasant sleep like he'd wanted to be. He admits River makes a mighty pretty picture, stretched out naked next to him in bed, but she could use a lesson or two on the proper things to say at a time like this.

"I know you ain't quite right in the head, darlin', but I reckon you ain't much wronger'n the rest of us either," he says, both trying to placate her and telling what he sees as the honest truth. Wouldn't be sleeping with her if he saw it any other way.

"True," she says, looking wide awake herself and full of mischief to boot. "You do knowingly accept jobs from people who have intentions of killing you."

"Hey now, I didn't mean me! Meant more like Jayne, way he went off the other day crying 'bout that broken gun of his."

"That was logical. It was a nice gun."

"That ain't the point," he grumbles, getting involved in this ridiculous discussion despite himself. "Or the way Kaylee 'n the doc keep messing 'round in the engine room? Exposin' parts that sensitive when there's burning hot metal bits spinning about not three feet away, how does that make any kind of good sense?"

"Some people enjoy an element of risk in sex."

"Yeah, well, not me. I got no issue with keepin' private and comfortable in here," he says, yawning and pulling her up against him.

"Your bed does make an optimal location," she says, her mouth curving as she looks up at him. "But you should take into account the fact that you're currently sharing it with a woman who could kill you with one hand. If I wanted to, I mean." Her voice lowers, thickens, takes on a teasing bit of honey-roughness along with his stolen accent. "You ain't quite right either, you know."

"Fair enough, darlin'. But aren't you glad of it?"

He doesn't need to be a reader himself to know that the way she kisses him means she's plenty glad, indeed.


	4. Addition

**Warning:** This piece is River/Mal/Inara; if that doesn't float your boat, please hit the next button for more regular River/Mal goodness.

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><p>Prompt: <em>RiverMal/Inara, post-serenity, he doesn't know what he was thinking when he agreed to this relationship._

Timeline: Very slightly pre-relationship_  
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><p><em>Addition<em>

"Sorry, you're wanting me to do _what_?"

Mal's always liked Inara's shuttle well enough, even if it does tend to make him a mite uncomfortable, but at this particular moment he'd rather be anywhere on the ship but here, facing down two women who've just made him one hell of a request.

Inara glances at River, a small smile on her face. "Well, you see, Mal...River came to me for an education in the sexual aspects of life, which I was happy to provide-"

"What happened to your policy of not servicing crew?" he can't resist asking, but she continues right on like he hadn't said a thing.

"-but there are certain activities that require a man, and after some discussion, River and I agreed that this would be the best choice."

"So basically the two of you are just wantin' to use me for my dick then? I ain't your stud horse, you know."

Inara raises her eyebrows. "Well, we could always ask Jayne, if you'd prefer."

He's about to go off into a rant involving heavy use of the phrase _hell no_ when River steps right up in front of him, close enough to touch.

"Not just about possessing the proper equipment," she tells him, glancing back at Inara before continuing. "She wants all of you, heart and mind and feelings. And so do I," she says, looking him straight in the eye. "Three make a triad, the basis of harmony. The equipment _is_ a nice addition, though." And then her hand's gone to a place he never thought to have River's hands on, and _wo de ma_, he knows this is a thing it ain't right to be doing, but he's a man and not a preacher, after all.

Hours later, when he wakes up smothered in a cloud of dark hair, he wonders what in the 'verse he's gotten himself into; on the other hand, there's definitely one or two things here he could learn to love, lying warm and curled up in his arms.


	5. Airs Along the Ground

a/n: This was a gift fic for the lovely hereswith, who is among my favorite Mal/River authors; if you haven't read her work, you really ought to, you won't be disappointed._  
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><p>Timeline: Established relationship<em><br>_

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><p><em>Airs Along the Ground<em>

"You never rode before? Ever?" he asks, disbelieving as he stares at her over the horse's broad back, and all River can do is shake her head, watching his hand stroke the horse with a gentle touch, sweet and loving and unthinking. "'Spose there wasn't much call for riding, fancy Core planet like Osiris." The horse shifts, and he whispers in its ear, calming nonsense not meant to be shared, then meets her eyes again, the shadow of a grin on his face. "You wanna learn?"

She does, and they blend all three into one; his fingers laced beneath her foot as he helps her up, hop-hop-jump, like a little dance; the horse beneath her, warm and alive and making the world move in a different rhythm than flying, and Mal, lifting himself up to sit behind her, solid and steady against her back.

They fly on feet across the plain, the world blurring to the sound of hooves on turf, and for this moment her world is perfect; free and in motion and wholly contained in Mal's arms, her laughter following behind them on the wind.


	6. True Love Is to Dance

a/n: Technically, this is a gen piece, done for livejournal's sf_women_daily community's comment-a-thon, but like most of my Firefly genfic, it's got plenty of River/Mal subtext since I can't seem to write them both in the same story without it._  
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><p>Prompt: <em>River, she was born to be a ballet dancer<em>

Timeline: Pre-relationship

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><p><em>True Love Is to Dance<em>

She could have been anything, anything at all, but she never loved anything more than ballet, the controlled battle of body and gravity, the forming of musculature and movement into beauty.

"Dance with me," she says, feet bare and the floor offering no spring, only the shock of hard metal on her heels, but it's too much to resist. And sometimes they will; usually Inara, with elegant grace and precision, or Kaylee, who has no technique at all but makes up for it with whirling enthusiasm.

Jayne just sneers, Book laughs and says he's too old, and Zoe smiles, but says she prefers to watch if it's all the same. She always watches when Wash dances with River – Wash dances like he flies, fast and free and unpredictable, but always with an edge of nervousness, always with his eyes on Zoe.

Simon dances only once, just to please her, because he has never been a dancer, too much in his head to truly inhabit his body in the proper way.

"Dance with me," she says to Mal, and he watches her carefully, considering, balancing what he thinks she needs with what he's able to give.

"Don't think I'm quite the right partner for you, darlin'," he says after a moment, "but think I might know who is."

He takes her up to the bridge, and he doesn't let her there alone, there's not that much trust in her – but he lets her take up what qualifies here as center stage, lets her join hands with _Serenity_ and perform with her, a _pas de deux_ with the stars as their backdrop, weaving and twisting, tumbling through the black.

She smiles, watching the stars leap around them, mind's eye showing her the ribbon-trail, golden bright, that the ship longs to leave waving behind them.

"Care to join us, Captain?" she asks, and he hesitates but takes the other seat, making them a trio together, flying across the sky.

River feels _Serenity's_ vibrations through the helm under her hands, trembling like taut muscles straining free of gravity. She knows that feeling, and she hears the ship speak.

_Dance with me._


	7. More than Normal

Prompt: _post-Serenity, She had never hoped for normal, but they weren't really that normal anyway._

Timeline: Established relationship

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><p><em>More Than Normal<em>

It occurs to River, as she looks at the pair of them through Badger's eyes, that they're not exactly normal. Badger is used to Mal being here with Zoe; he sees them as a unit, a pair. People seeing Simon and Kaylee hanging on each other's arms walking through town see a couple. But River and Mal, no – in the eyes of others, they remain individuals, separate, apart. Too many differences; they fit together below the surface, parts of the same whole, but that's covered by flesh and skin and layers of assumptions so people can't see. It's not often she minds this, but here, seeing through Badger's thoughts, she does.

"You know, I think I remember this girl," he says, coming towards her, bowler hat balanced on arrogance. "Pretty little bit of a thing from back home, wasn't it? Crime to keep her hidden away on that piece of crap ship, Reynolds."

"Sad little king," River greets him, the lilt of Badger's accent coloring her words.

"Wait, when exactly did he meet you?" Mal asks, ignoring Badger like he would a gnat.

"Long time ago. You were absent."

"When was I absent that he was on my ship, talking to you?"

"You were playing the misguided hero at the time. And getting yourself stabbed in consequence."

"Gonna have to be more specific than that, darlin', I tend to get stabbed a lot."

"I know, wish you wouldn't. Makes my heart stop. This time was with a sword. Over honor."

"Oh yeah, good old Ath. Least he walked away with as many scars as I got out of it."

"Still, it was an unwise choice."

"Well, now I got you to protect me, don't have to worry none 'bout makin' bad choices."

"You still make them. I just correct you."

Finished, they turn as one from each other to Badger, who's been watching the two of them, eyes swiveling like he was at a ping-pong match.

"Ready to get down to business then?" Mal asks him. "Only you might not wanna try settin' us up this time, cause she'll know if you're lyin' and she tends to get mighty angry when people think about hurting me. And that ain't a sight you want to see, trust me."

River smiles at Badger, partly to be strange and eerie and not quite right, and partly because things have clicked in his mind, and he sees the two of them now as one – a strange and sharp edged pair that he doesn't understand, and doesn't care to, but a pair all the same.

She's never in her life been normal anyhow, really. It would be silly to start now.


	8. Unintended Usages

Prompt: _River, she rarely played with uneducational "toys" in her childhood but Wash's small plastic lizards had their uses  
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Timeline: Pre-relationship

a/n: This was originally written as a gen piece, to fit the prompt; I've since made it much more overtly shippy, as you see here. Also, yes, I've watched the _Serenity_ outtakes way too much.

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><p><em>Unintended Usages <em>

Looking down at the screens on the bridge, River frowns, because she certainly hadn't told the ship to do _that_.

A tiny _click_ sounds off the metal space as she flips a switch.

A corresponding _click_ from the opposite side of the room indicates the reason _Serenity_ is disobeying her; the only reason the ship ever would, really – her _sha gua_ of a Captain giving orders which are clearly quite incorrect.

Very careful not to look (that would spoil the game, and she does like to play), she flicks the switch again. And then again, and once more, faster and faster until the clicks are nearly indistinguishable, and Mal's got quick hands but hers will always be just a little bit faster, so -

A stegosaurus flies through the air, and it's not that his aim is _bad_, exactly, but she doubts he meant it to hit her right above her eye, and in any case, it makes her squeal in surprise.

He's out of his chair in a flash, his soft heart and gullible nature luring him right within range, and she pounces quick as a raptor, leaving Mal on his back, being menaced with tiny tail-spikes.

"Just because it was a herbivore doesn't mean it wasn't intended for combat," she tells him.

"Looks more like a thing made for defense," he points out, indicating the rows of plates on the creature's back, not seeming all that put out by his current position. He likes to play too, and she knows it, feels it in the instinctive _rightness_ of his hips beneath hers.

"Highly debated," she says, mastering reluctance and rising, offering him a hand up that doesn't contain a spiky plastic form. "Might be all part of a shell, bristling with spikes and surliness and bright warnings to keep away, don't get involved." A sidelong look shows he's watching her very carefully; he's always been the one who bothers teasing out the practical intentions from her metaphors. "Or they could serve a thermoregulatory purpose. Or," she says, turning back as she leaves the room to toss the object of debate back to him, "they might have served a sexual purpose. A flamboyantly prickly exterior can be seen as a highly attractive quality in a mate."

There's a clatter of plastic on metal as Mal fumbles the catch, and River giggles her way down the passage, never ceasing to be amused by how easy it is to fluster him; he's nearly as bad as her brother when it comes to these things.

On that thought, she fishes the tyrannosaur from her pocket and smiles at it. "Shall we go find Simon?"

Mal will come around eventually, she knows, though he may never look at that stegosaurus quite the same again.


	9. Standing By

Prompt: _Rotation_

Timeline: Established relationship_  
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><p><em>Standing By<em>

"You promised," River says, eyes gone all huge but not a trace of pouting in her voice, just that flat tone she uses when she thinks she's stating the obvious.

As used to that tone as he is, Mal still finds it mighty irritating. "_Shen me_? Seems to me I'd remember such, promises not being things I tend to make any too often."

"You did," she insists, somehow managing to keep her little hands wrapped around the helm even as she twists the rest of herself to face him. "Said I was perfectly ready to fly on my own."

He does recall saying that, now that she mentions it. "Yeah, but-"

"Said there was no reason I couldn't fly by myself," she continues, not paying any mind at all to the fact that he's trying to talk too.

"Well, sure, darlin', but I was just saying that to Simon."

The way she's got her eyes all narrowed in his direction don't bode especially well for him. "Does that make your statements any less truthful?"

"Not as such, no," he admits, trying to think of a way to regain the high ground here. "Was just my way of letting your brother know I wasn't gonna hear any more talk from him 'bout what you should or shouldn't be doin', though."

"So you didn't mean it," she says, turning her back on him, staring out into the stars. "You lied."

"Did no such thing," he says, leaning over the console so she's forced to either look at him or ignore him a few scant inches from her face. "And you know that full well, so let's not be playing games here, alright?"

River tilts her head back, so the shield of her hair falls back against her shoulder, and glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "You don't mind my games," she says, and he might've missed the way that smile of hers came out for just a second, if he hadn't chanced to be starting at her mouth at the time. "Explain why I can't fly tonight, then."

Takes a minute for his mind to click back into place, way he was letting himself get distracted by her. Not much doubt that's part of her game. "Uh...cause it's my turn in the rotation, that's why."

She sighs and flicks her fingers at him in a dismissive manner. "A poor excuse. Do you trust me?"

Doesn't matter how that's about the most fraught question anybody on his boat could've asked him; there's still not a bit of hesitation in his answer. "Yes."

The smile she gives him at that is enough to light up the whole bridge. "Then let me fly tonight," she says, removing his hand from the console, letting her fingers trace light and shivery up the inside of his arm, almost like an accident. "And maybe I'll let you fly later."

Never mind that he's none too sure she's actually talking about him putting hands to helm later on; as he walks away, leaving her to _Serenity_ and the black, the funny thing is how right it feels.


	10. As Little as this Bed Allows

__Prompt: _Mal/River, I could get used to this._

Timeline: Established relationship

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><p><em>As Little as this Bed Allows<em>

Isn't that Mal's thinking _Serenity _is _imperfect_ in any way, exactly – somebody else's fluffy lord surely knows how he loves his ship – but he is finding out now that there's a damn good reason Zoe had insisted on taking over the larger bunk when she started bedding down with Wash.

"You mind gettin' your hair outta my face, maybe?" Seems like no matter how much of River's silky hair he pushes off himself, there's always a strand or two left to tickle him. Not that the sweet flowery scent of it isn't a nice reminder that there's a woman in his bed for once, but really, it's enough to drive a man clear out of his head.

"You're lying on some of it," she points out, shifting about next to him, getting cold little feet all kinds of places they don't belong. "That makes it rather difficult."

"Well, here, let me just-" Except too much shifting around makes him almost fall off the edge, and the bed's a mess of flailing limbs in no time. Not in the fun way it had been not long ago neither, cause the wheezing gasp River lets out is no kind of pleased.

"Ow."

"Sorry, darlin', did I hurt you?"

"Think your right patella made contact with my solar plexus."

"Okay, can I get that in dummy talk for those of us who ain't freaky genius types like you?"

She gives him a long-suffering sigh and a pained look, pulling that endless curtain of tickles back behind her shoulders. "You kneed me in the chest."

"Oh," he says, pulling her down underneath him, cause he's more than happy to check for any damage in that particular area, "no harm done, I hope?"

She laughs against his mouth when he goes to kiss her, light and breathy and completely maddening, just like the rest of her. "The solar plexus is lower down, Mal."

"Glad to hear it. Wouldn't want to – _wo de ma_, is that your foot?"

"Possibly," she says, scooting away from him much as possible, which ain't so very far. "Was it problematic?"

"Only cause it felt like a block of ice. This is what comes of going 'round barefoot all the time."

"It's a resolvable issue," she says.

"Long as your solution don't involve getting your feet anywhere near me again, that's – hey, you give that back!"

"You wanted me to warm myself," she says innocently, great big eyes peeping at him over the cocoon she's made out of the only blanket, wrapped all nice and snug around herself.

"Didn't have a mind to freeze my own self. You gotta share, and that's an order. Ain't gonna disobey Captain's orders, are you?"

"Your pilot and crew member wouldn't," she says, before sticking her tongue out at him, safe inside her fleecy little fortress. "Your girlfriend would."

"Well that ain't rightly fair," he says, giving up and flopping down on his back, though there's parts of him hanging off the bed, what with it being more crowded than normal. "Might just have to take myself down to the passenger dorms to get any rest, if this is how it's gonna be."

There's another little sigh in the darkness, and then her hands (thankfully a good deal warmer than her feet) and her voice prodding at him. "Move over – no, _this_ way, you boob. There." She settles herself, and the blanket too, down on top of him, more or less. "Will this do?"

Seeing as how there's no hair in his face, he can breathe fine, and none of his limbs seem likely to go all pins-and-needles on him, he thinks this just might work out after all. "Yeah, albatross," he says, kissing her hair, not a single strand sticking around to bedevil him. "Thinkin' I could get used to this."


	11. Left Your Impression

Timeline: Pre-relationship

Notes: Written for teh_bug at the fandom_stocking community on livejournal, who asked for shy, slow romance and chivalry.

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><p><em>Left Your Impression<em>

When he presents her with a heavy, carefully wrapped package, she's not entirely certain what to think; the part of her that remains a _girl_ wants to peek, wants to snatch the thoughts from his head before her fingers can untie the knots holding it all shut, but the part of her that's growing up, that looks on him as _Mal_ rather than _Captain_ and likes very much what she sees – that part of River wants to savor the moment, to remember the feel of the twine and the smooth paper under her hands, to look at the smile on his face, open and free for once, until it's embedded in her memory.

"Well, ain't you gonna open it? The wrapping's not meant to be the excitin' part, darlin', I promise."

She unties and tears and pulls away then, safe in this small act of destruction, ruination being wrapping's purpose, until her fingers meet the object within, smooth and soft, so like the color of dark chocolate the taste fills her mouth, sweet and bitter, rich and beautiful.

"Hope it fits right," he says, taking it from her unresisting hands, holding it out for her. "Figured it was 'bout time you had a coat of your own, way you go round in those little dresses of yours."

That he's noticed what she wears doesn't escape her attention; that he's noticed what she lacks doesn't either.

Mostly, as Mal's hands guide the brown leather of her new coat over her shoulders, River knows he's aware of what she _needs_, more than anyone else could be.

It's a beginning, and more than enough.


	12. Surreal That a Girl Should Be So

__Timeline: Pre-relationship

Notes: Written for heatherlayne_n at the fandom_stocking community on livejournal, who wanted something with a literature tie-in. All quotes are from _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

I often forget to say so on this one, since I update it so infrequently, but thanks so much to everyone who leaves comments, they really brighten my day!

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><p><em>Surreal (That a Girl Should Be So)<em>

"What are you reading?" she asks (she doesn't _need_ to ask, of course, but she likes to; it makes everyone else forget she isn't normal), though what she really means is _why_.

He looks up at her, something close to guilt in his face, _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ almost falling from his hands. "Nothing much," he says, trying to sound nonchalant (she appreciates the effort even as it falls flat between them). "Suppose you know it by heart, anyhow."

"_And from my neck so free the Albatross fell off, and sank like lead into the sea_," she quotes softly, coming up beside him, her fingers tracing the faded gilt of the title. "I'm not that kind of albatross," she says, looking him in the eye, relieved at how he doesn't look away, how he closes the book and sets it aside.

"Never thought you were, darlin'," he says, and his hands (so recently filled with old tales, old myths of the sea and sky and those caught between them) catch at her own, his fingers as warm and firm as his gaze.

She looks down at him, this man who'd fought and struggled for her, who'd believed in her even when her words were hardly her own, who'd paid the price for it in blood and never regretted, never blamed her for a moment.

Her hand reaches out (hesitant, _hummingbird_), to touch his face, words rising to the surface in her mind as her fingers trace down his throat, coming to rest in the hollow at its base.

"_Instead of the cross, the Albatross about my neck was hung_," she says (the words falling like a chant, a rite) and she feels the grasp of his hand on hers grow tight, watches something flare in his eyes; watches as the way he looks at her changes, the balance between them shifting, a damaged thing stretching its wings.

Faith, she's been told, is meant to fix what's been broken; here and now, she thinks she might understand how.


	13. The Undertow

__Timeline: Pre-relationship

Notes: Written for mareel at the fandom_stocking community on livejournal, who wanted romance, small moments, and a hopeful ending.

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><p><em>The Undertow<em>

The ship is quiet; silent even, to River's ears. To her mind, it's humming, pulsing with feelings running sharp down wires, through the coating on cables, ground down into the dirt on the floors.

When he finds her (he always finds her, even when her mind doesn't call out to him, even when she stays quiet and hidden up in the walls, just to see if she can; he always knows) perched on a catwalk railing, her back to a crossbar with one leg dangling over into space, she doesn't let him get a word in, doesn't let his voice join in the hum in her blood.

"Shh," she says, holding up her hand. "I'm listening."

Mal tilts his head, frozen for a moment, listening too; he doesn't hear, but she forgives this. "Is there somethin' I should be hearing here or is this one of those times I ain't supposed to ask?"

She makes a face at him; after all, it's hardly her fault that the last time he asked that question, he hadn't wanted the answer.

"Not listening to Simon and Kaylee today. There's a snake in their garden, paradise lost," she explains, swinging her leg idly, watching Mal's fingers twitch.

"Ah. That'd go a ways towards explaining why the doc looked mighty put out last time I saw him."

She nods, wrapping her hands around the cool grit of the railings, turning her head to face him. "Quiet, but bubbling up just under the surface."

He's got his arms resolutely crossed over his chest as he stands there in front of her, hands safely tucked away, but she _hears_ anyhow, hears the teeth-gritting worry and irritation in his thoughts even before he speaks. "What'd I tell you 'bout sitting like that? It's not nice, making everyone tiptoe 'round you cause they don't want you to be startled and go falling off."

"I wouldn't fall," she says, very seriously, because it's important that he hears it, that he _knows_ that; still, she moves herself towards him, both legs on the right side of the rail now, close enough to touch. Mal's eyes meet hers, and she pulls her scattered thoughts together with an effort, wondering how much he'll hear under her words.

"_Serenity's_ a bad name for this ship."

"What?" he says, blinking, taking a step back from her, like she's tossed him off balance. "No it ain't. My ship, my name. Suits her just fine."

"Serenity – the state of being serene, calm, steady, tranquil. The opposite of what she tells me." Hopping off her perch, she paces closer to him, close enough that her shoulder brushes his arm as she passes. "Everything here is made of passion," she says, reaching out with her far hand, sliding her fingers over the metal, listening to the hum just out of hearing. "Emotion. The past, and the present."

A long moment passes, seconds layered over each other and falling into the past while he stands watching her. River waits, her own breathing loud in her ears, until he moves, his fingers brushing up along hers, over her wrist, feather-light.

"Could be that's so," he says. "Course, there's always a future to be thinkin' on too."

River smiles, because he's _heard_; around them, _Serenity_ purrs.


	14. On My Mind When I Arise

__Prompt: _Firefly, any/any, watching you sleep_

Timeline: Pre-relationship

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><p><em>On My Mind When I Arise<br>_

Wasn't that he fell asleep on the bridge, even if night watch is the most boring thing he can conjure. He'd just been resting his eyes, that was all – and his ears too, apparently, since he'd had no notion of River being in the room too until he opened his eyes to find her face right in front of his.

"Um, River, darlin', that's just a mite creepifing."

"Why?" she asks, moving back just enough that he can take in her whole face at once, rather than just her great big brown eyes. "You do it all the time."

"What? Don't do any such thing!" he protests.

"You do so," she says, perfectly unruffled. "Every time someone's hurt. Kaylee, Zoe. Even Jayne. You sit, and wait, and watch. Try to hold them together with your will, make it so they won't dare slip away with you watching."

It's downright uncomfortable, way that girl sees into things, gets into places a man didn't even know were there. Also the way she's standing so close he couldn't get up if he wanted to, but that's not quite so bad.

"That ain't the same," he points out. "Folks are happy to see someone there for 'em when they're hurt, they expect it. Watching someone just plain sleeping is different. And _creepy_," he emphasizes once more, hoping she'll take the hint and get them both out of this situation.

River being River, she doesn't, or more likely, chooses not to. "You watched me sleep, before," she says, her voice soft in the dimness, swallowed up by all the black. "And I wasn't hurt then."

Mal's not quite sure _sleep_ is the word for what she was doing then, lying cuffed to _Serenity's_ floor, caged up like a wild thing. "Weren't hurt on the outside, maybe. You were hurting plenty on the inside, way I recall it. And how do you know what I was doing while you were out, anyhow?"

She looks at him for a long moment, still so close he can catch the scent of her hair when she shifts. "I know everything," she says finally, like she's stating the plainest of facts. "You watched, and you worried. Thought I was broken, that I'd break you too."

Maybe it's that he's just woken up, but something compels him to go and be honest when he shouldn't. "Still ain't sure you won't, darlin'." Moment it's out of his mouth, he knows it's the wrong thing to say, though he's less than certain which is worse, her thinking he still sees her as a threat or her taking it in regards to the lack of distance between them as of late, the way he meant it.

Way she smiles, quick and subtle, he knows full well which way she took it. "You won't break," she says firmly, and moves away, settling herself in the other chair, watching him from further away now. "I won't let you."

Funny, how he's finding he misses the heat of her close by; still, there's too many things to say just now, and they're all jumbled up in his brain 'til he can't possibly make sense of what's real and what's just in his head, and the possibility of _something_ breaking – his sense of decency, her fragile peace, the rules that keep them both bound inches apart – seems more likely by the minute.

"It's alright," she says, smiling that secretive little smile again and shaking her head just a fraction, as if to say, _I can wait, and so can you_. "Go back to sleep. I'll watch."


	15. Notes on a Dress Code

Tiny epistolary fic! Who doesn't love epistolary fic? (If your answer is 'me', please stop reading now.)

Timeline: Pre-relationship (...ish? Maybe? I'm not really sure with this one.)

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><p><em>Note left on the pilot's seat in the bridge, in calligraphy<em>:

River Tam requests the pleasure of your company in her bunk after dinner. No dress code.

_Note dropped down the hatch of River's bunk, written on the reverse of previous note_:

Your bunk is a dangerous place, darlin. Think we ought to keep our meetings out in the open, _dong ma_?

_Note left in Mal's coffee mug, the following morning_:

Was the lack of dress code the issue? I can institute one if it would be helpful.

_On the bridge, taped to River's console_:

Wasn't what I'd be wearing that was like to make the situation uncomfortable, no.

_Taped to Mal's console_:

Unlikely. You'd have been naked.

_On River's console_:

...scuse me? (Also, you and me gonna be having a mighty uncomfortable chat if anybody else reads this.)

_Tossed into Mal's bunk:_

Is that an indication of curiosity or disapproval? Please learn to be more direct in your correspondence, Malcolm.

_Left tucked into River's left boot, found lying abandoned in the cargo bay_:

Ain't nothing wrong with my correspondence, missy.

_Tucked into River's right boot, same_:

Also, might have been curiosity.

_Note left on pilot's seat on the bridge_:

River Tam requests the pleasure of your company in her bunk after dinner. No dress code. Nudity will be provided and facilitated.

_Sign taped to River's door, that night_:

Do Not Disturb (This Means You, Simon).


End file.
